


Not A Solution

by TheGreatLibraryFangirl (Mazeem)



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Injury, Compulsion, Delusions, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sedatives mentioned, Self-Harm, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, wolfe is not ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/TheGreatLibraryFangirl
Summary: During his recovery from his imprisonment in Rome, an everyday shower goes exceedingly wrong for Wolfe.Heavy whump ficlet with unreliable narrator, please read tags.
Relationships: Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

There was still dirt under Wolfe's fingernails. He could feel it grinding between his toes, too, and mixed in with the unshaven scruff on his face. 

He was filthy. Disgusting. It was unacceptable. He was better than this. 

The shower had run cold a long time ago, but that didn't matter. That was his punishment. 

That burning, overwhelmed feeling welled up in his chest again and he closed his eyes to fight it down. 

He could do this. He just had to get clean. Had to fight the soft, shadowy voice inside his head which was pointing out that if he didn't have fingernails, then he wouldn't have dirt jammed underneath them, would he? 

He'd already bitten them as far down as he could. That was enough, he told himself sternly. 

It was a stupid thought. Utterly irrational. He didn't really want to remove his fingernails. He knew what that felt like. It was just an itch at the back of his mind, a potential solution, like the itch of this  _ fucking dirt _ all over him. 

He banged his head back against the shower wall to release some of the frustration and closed his eyes. Colours raced behind his eyelids. He felt trapped. Nothing he was doing was working. He wasn't clean, he wasn't calm, he was just ... 

_ Helpless _ , whispered that soft voice inside his head. He clenched his filthy hands and whispered at it to fuck off. 

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Nic stepping silently through the bathroom doorway. Relief flooded over him so strongly that he nearly fell to his knees. 

"Nic." He heard the pathetic childish whine in his voice. "Nic, I can't do it."

Nic smiled and climbed into the shower. He drew Wolfe away from the wall and wrapped his strong arms around him, supporting him. Wolfe shuddered and made an incoherent noise. It felt so good. 

"Of course you can," Nic said in his ear, in the most wonderfully gentle tone. "I believe in you, Chris."

Nic believed in him. He fumbled for the nail brush again, and flicked off the annoying crimson specks on it. 

But he was weak and pathetic, and soon he had to stop and breathe through the pain, and the icy chill that not even the warmth of Nic's arms was driving away. 

"Why have you stopped?" Nic asked. His lips pressed against Wolfe's cheek. "You're almost done, aren't you? You're so close." His voice was quiet. Reassuring. "Just a few little spots left, my love. I believe in you. Believe in me, when you can't believe in yourself."

Oh. Oh that was nice. Nic had said that before, Wolfe remembered fuzzily. When he'd been very, very badly off. much worse than he was now. How nice of Nic to offer that when Wolfe was just being ridiculous. Yes, he believed in Nic. Always. 

But looking at his fingernails made his head spin. So much dark, embedded mess, still, even though he'd tried so hard. 

The breath snagged in his throat in a dry sob. His legs shook like leaves in a high wind and he staggered.

"What's the matter?" Nic asked. He put a comforting hand on Wolfe's chest, where it rose and fell and burned and ached. 

"Nothing. It's ... I'm fine." He tried to breathe. Nic's hand was very heavy. "Nic? I'm going to try and get it out from between my toes now. Is that all right?" He hated that tone in his voice, but he needed the reassurance too much to stay quiet. If Nic said it was all right to change the angle of attack, then it was all right. 

No response. The weight of Nic's embrace left him. 

Panic clutched at Wolfe's throat, choking him. 

"Nic?" he called. "I'm just ... I'm only taking a break, I'm not giving up, I promise! Nic, can I just ..." 

"Is that doing your best, Christopher?" Nic asked from a distance.

The weight of Nic's disappointment hit him like a punch. Reeling, sobbing, he slid down the slick shower wall. He tried to bring the nail brush between his toes but it wouldn't fit and his mind was wild and frantic and couldn't figure out a proper solution -

_ \- removing the toes is not a solution, it is not - _

-and then the bathroom door banged open. His heart nearly burst out of his chest with the shock.

Nic was back. Oh, thanks to all the merciful gods, Nic had come back for him. 

"Nic, I'm sorry!" Or, he tried to say that. Did he say that? His sobs were more like moans and they were stealing all his air away, there was no space to talk to Nic.

The icy deluge of water stopped. His skin fizzed and itched with an uncomprehending fizz at the loss of the sensation. He tried to scratch, but Nic grabbed his wrist.

"Jesus fucking Christ, your hands!"

Oh, the shame. His hands were so very, very dirty. He curled his head under his free arm so that he didn't have to look at Nic. His hair dripped into his eyes and he squeezed them shut. "I tried!" he cried. "Please. I tried. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, love. You don't have to be sorry. Breathe, now. Just breathe."

He couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't do anything properly. He didn't deserve Nic's kindness. 

"Sit up." He followed the simple instruction and felt absurdly grateful for it. 

The next few minutes passed in a dizzying whirl. Nic stayed, this time. Nic didn't leave. 

Nic asked him to stand, and helped him when he slipped on the wet floor. 

Nic wrapped him in a towel, and that made Wolfe miss the next instruction, he was too busy burying his face into the soft, warm material.

"Sorry!" he blurted, and curled his throbbing fingers into fists. He'd left mucus and tears all over the towel.  _ Disgusting _ . 

"It's fine, sweetheart." Nic took Wolfe's face in his hands and Wolfe leaned hungrily into his touch. Nic was so warm. So solid. Even better than before. His gaze wandered dazedly over Nic's face. It blurred for a moment.

"Sorry," he mumbled again. "Just a bit cold."

"I can tell." Nic kissed his forehead. "You need to be warmed up." He was speaking Italian, too. Tears stung Wolfe's eyes. He didn't deserve this. 

With Nic's help, he walked on wobbly legs to the bed. 

He lost himself for a moment, burrowing into the pile of blankets, wondering at how soft everything was, and when he emerged, breathless, Nic was gone. 

Terror tried to yank a scream out of his throat, but he clapped both hands over his mouth and only a high, thin wheeze emerged.

It was all his fault. He hadn't paid enough attention. Nic wanted him to try his best, isn't that what he'd said in the bathroom, when he'd left before?

He pulled the blankets away from himself and threw them over the side of the bed. He didn't need them. They were a distraction, and he'd only dirty them with the state of his body anyway. Nic was right. 

Oh, and that was clearly the right thing to have done, because here was Nic again. The knot in his chest relaxed with relief. 

The mattress sank underneath Nic's weight as he sat next to him.

"You took your blankets off." Nic's tone wasn't quite the proud one Wolfe was expecting, but his hands were gentle as he stroked Wolfe's wet hair back from his face.

Wolfe nodded eagerly. "You were right. They were distracting me."

Nic inhaled oddly, but his voice was wonderfully tender as he said, "But you're cold, sweetheart."

Wolfe raised his chin. "I'm fine." He couldn't catch a full breath, still, but he managed to quiet his shivers without it.

"What about one blanket? Just one?"

Wolfe squeezed his eyes shut in confusion. Why did Nic want him to have a blanket now? Was he not doing a good enough job of showing that he was fine? Of course not, he hadn't exactly done anything else well.

"I don't need it. You know I don't." He opened his eyes and glared up at Nic. "Stop pandering to me!" 

But even as he tried to sound strong and angry and fierce, he was bending towards Nic like a willow tree towards water, pressing himself against Nic's bulk like he needed it to live. Pathetic. 

"Of course. Forgive me for pandering to you." Nic's voice rumbled in his chest, where Wolfe's ear was pressed. Wolfe's eyes slid closed and he watched the colours swirl behind them. 

They sat like that for a moment. It was easier to breathe here, but Wolfe couldn't suppress his shivers for long and that made him feel terrible again.

"Will you do me a favour, Chris?"

Wolfe nodded immediately.

"Will you take these for me?"

Reluctantly, Wolfe cracked his eyelids open. 

Those were sleeping pills on Nic's palm. He knew what they looked like. No fooling him. 

He hated the sleeping pills. 

Maybe he deserved them, for being so useless. Punishment. 

Absentmindedly he raised his sore fingers to his mouth and licked them. They tasted like metal. 

Then Nic yanked his hand away. "Leave them alone."

The stern tone sliced into his aching, trembling core and he made a noise that was humiliatingly like a whimper.

"I'm sorry." Burning tears flooded his eyes again. He sought for a way to make amends. 

If only he could think straight. 

"I'll take the pills! I will. I promise."

"Fuck," Nic whispered, harshly. Then, more loudly. "All right, sweetheart. Thank you."

The pills tasted chalky and terrible. Nic gave him fruit juice to wash them down with, which was almost too sweet and rich for Wolfe's senses to bear. He swallowed everything, because he had to, because it was his deserved punishment. 

"That's right, love." Nic eased him back against the pillows, stroked his head, spoke to him in soft tones. "That's exactly the right thing to do. I promise."

Wolfe shivered uncontrollably and hated himself for it. He wasn’t even that cold anymore, not really. 

Soon the heavy, artificial weariness started to wash over him in waves. 

"Ssh," Nic murmured when Wolfe failed to stifle his yawn. "That's it. Let yourself drift away. I'll be here."

Wolfe yawned again. Didn't fight the dragging, dizzying spiral. It was what Nic wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Oops, has this really been sat in my files since April??) More whump, finishing this fic up.

Wolfe opened his eyes. The room was dim, lit only by very low glows, and cool and almost silent, apart from Nic’s breathing in bed next to him. For a moment, that was all very reassuring. 

Then he recognised the daylight streaming in around the edges of the black-out curtains. And the fact that he felt like he needed reassured. 

He rolled to face Nic, and found that Nic was already looking at him. “Hello, my love.”

Yes, that was Nic’s quiet, careful voice. Because Wolfe needed reassured. But why?

Wolfe let Nic stroke his cheek and tuck his hair behind his ear while he racked his brain. His head felt foggy and slow, and all he could pick out of his memories was that he’d been in the shower – and then an overwhelming sense of panic, so strong that even remembering it made it cinch his throat tight again. 

Something had gone wrong in the shower. Quite a lot wrong, by the feel of things. 

“What happened?”

“Can you not remember anything?” 

Wolfe shook his head. “Nothing solid.” He tried to clench his fists in frustration, but was foiled by … by what?

He brought his hands up in front of his face. Each fingers and thumb was wrapped in bandages.

He had no idea why. 

“Nic!?” His pulse pounded so loudly in his temples that he couldn’t hear more than the unformed sound of Nic’s voice. He tried to pick at the bandages, but he had no fingernails to do it with.

‘No fingernails’ rang a bell, but all that bell did was scare him even more. He knew what his fingers looked like with no fingernails.

He flapped his hands back and forth in the vain hope that the dressings would just fly off, and winced. His wrists were still weak and they did not appreciate such cavalier treatment. 

“Off, off, off, off!”

Nic's warm hand covered his mouth, and it was only then that he realised those words were his own. He made a few muffled, incoherent protests and then just watched Nic’s eyes for a while, until he realised that he could hear Nic’s voice, too:

“-in the shower, that’s all. I just bandaged them up so that the antibacterial cream could soak in and so you wouldn’t worry at them in your sleep. You can take them off in a little while, if you want.” He paused and then began again. “It’s all right, sweetheart, you just hurt yourself in the shower, that’s all …”

Wolfe listened to the message once or twice more, just to make sure he was hearing everything correctly, then nodded to show understanding and turned his head away to free his mouth. 

“How did I hurt myself?”

Nic hesitated. “I think you got caught in some sort of cleanliness compulsion. I’m not sure. There was a lot … going on.”

Wolfe let his head sink back onto the pillow as he tried to process that, tried to shift through the mess of his memories to find Nic’s words in there. He was groggy still, but this felt important. 

A flash of memory, distinct but unconnected to Nic’s words: sleeping pills on Nic’s outstretched hands. Ah. That explained some of his foggy head. They were extra strong, and Nic only gave him two at once when ... well, when he thought Wolfe needed restarting again like a faulty machine. Nic wouldn't like that analogy, but it was perfectly true. When he'd scared Nic, too, and Nic definitely wouldn't like that description. 

“I hate sleeping pills,” he muttered. 

“Sorry,” Nic said, returning to stroking his face and neck. It should have felt comforting, but Wolfe’s mind was starting to wake up now, and to flail around searching for some sense. 

“Take them off.” He held his hands up in front of Nic. They wavered. They were heavy. That only made him grit his teeth and try harder. “I want to see.”

Nic sighed. “Can you not wait until after you’ve had a bit more sleep?”

“No. Fuck off.” He sank his teeth into the bandage on his left index finger and tugged. Pain bubbled up, hot and sharp, and he grunted angrily at it. 

“All right. Ssh. I’ll do it. Just the one, just so that you can see.”

Wolfe glared at Nic. He wanted to snarl at him to stop speaking in that low, gentle voice, but at the same time he felt like it was the only thing holding him together.

He found himself looking away as Nic fiddled around. He spent the time trying to catch his breath, trying to control himself. 

“All right, there you go.” 

He turned his head and looked.

His bare index fingertip looked raw, maybe? Grazed? He couldn’t really see. 

“Turn the glows up.”

“Are you sure?"

He glared. 

Nic sighed again. “All right.” 

Wolfe made the terrible mistake of looking directly at the bedside glow as it brightened, and his mind took him straight back to his cell, where the dazzling light had meant a guard was looking into his cell and reaching for the lock and –

And he could pull himself out of that, he was used to that, he was fine. With his heartbeat deafening him again, he peered determinedly at his exposed smallest finger in the brighter light. 

Yes, very raw. Bright pink. Badly abraded. 

Not so bad, said one part of his mind. In fact, he suspected that Nic had unwrapped the least damaged, because now that he was concentrating he could feel the hot, sickening throb of pain in his thumb and first two fingers. 

Fucking filthy, hissed another part of his mind, shredding his rationality. 

“Nic,” he said. He flailed with his free hand. His unwrapped one lay there like it didn’t even belong to him. Like he could just … oh. Just cut it off. Right. “Nic. I think I … found the compulsion.” He heard the rising panic in his own voice as if from a distance. 

More of the memory slithered back as Nic made soothing noises and covered that finger again. The shower. Obsessive cleaning. Except that the events didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense. 

"Were you there?" he asked, hating the weakness in his voice. It was a relief when Nic's face loomed up over him again. It gave him something to focus on.

"I was, but not for all of it. I think you might have been ... imagining me, a little, before."

Wolfe tried to sigh, but it came out so raggedly that he had to gasp for breath again. "Probably." It wasn't fair. How dare his mind still fracture in that pattern, when he had the real Nic back?

_he did have the real nic back didnt he didnt he didnt he_

That glow was so bright that he was having to fight that same stupid memory of a guard's torch every time his eye was drawn towards it. 

Frustrated and scared, he tried to clench his fists again, but then it hurt again. Grating, skin-crawling pain. But he didn’t stop. Pain was real. 

“No! No, no, no. Stop. Do you need a little bit of pain? I can do that. Let me ground you, like we discussed.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and stewed in his own self-hatred as Nic carefully placed a line of sharp pinches up the soft skin of his inner forearm. Each harmless but un-ignorable pain cleared a tiny space in his mind.

He wanted to believe that this was a strange little offshoot of the sexual painplay they had enjoyed before his imprisonment, but he was very much afraid that his time imprisoned had rewritten him; that his mind just didn’t function properly without a degree of pain anymore.

Heat swept over him in a suffocating wave, and he swiped at the blankets trapping him with his stupid swaddled hands. Kicked his legs helplessly. 

Then Nic not only pinched but twisted too, and Wolfe’s mind blazed for a blank moment with the clean, scything feeling. 

When he blinked, he was staring at the ceiling, lying still and quiet apart from his unsteady breathing. 

It was dark again. Or, as close as Nic let it get, these days. Too dark was terrible. 

Cool, especially over the sweat he’d worked up. 

Quiet. Deliberately un-stimulating. 

This felt like another memory reset, and he frantically replayed the last few minutes in his head. All there. Maybe.

“I fucked up my hands in the shower,” he said to the ceiling, loudly, flinging it at the world and waiting to see what might bounce back. 

“Mm-hm.” Nic’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder, wandering to his chest and to the other shoulder. Wolfe turned towards the touch, trying to snuggle against Nic's wamth. His bandaged hands interrupted him, and panic yanked tight and painful against his ribcage. 

"And I thought you were there, but you weren't. But then you were." Fuck, he sounded like a child, a drunkard, an imbecile. Babbling nonsensical fragments of sentences into the dark.

"Yes." Nic kissed his forehead. Wolfe bulled upwards, blindly moving until his lips found Nic's, pushing in until Nic pushed back with his warm tongue. "You're safe," Nic whispered, drawing back an infuriating amount. "Could you try to rest a little more, for me?"

"Mm." Wolfe shifted forwards again, trying to squash himself against every inch of Nic that he could find. 

"I'm not going anywhere." Nic hooked his leg over Wolfe's thigh and met Wolfe's questing lips with another deep kiss.

It was easier than Wolfe had hoped to relax. To stop hearing his own ragged breathing, to slow the throbbing of his heartbeat and draw it back from the surface of his skin. It was likely to be the sedative residue, but he would take his advantages where he found them, and there was no better place to find them than in the tender familiarity of Nic's embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> There will quite possibly be a second chapter with some decent comfort, but this has been sat in my drafts for two weeks and I need validation pronto lol


End file.
